


Desires

by DrownSoda



Category: The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Genre: Dorian is one cold bastard, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:08:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23533588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrownSoda/pseuds/DrownSoda
Summary: Dorian wants to hear Henry say exactly what he desires.
Relationships: Dorian Gray/Henry Wotton
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	Desires

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on paper years ago and I've decided to type it and publish it now - I could have sworn I had already, but it's nowhere to be seen, so I must have misremembered!

Henry found it hard to breathe as he pressed his face against the soft purple velvet that clung to Dorian’s shoulder, that heavy, luxurious fabric that seemed at once radiant and dull. Indeed Henry had spent his days espousing the joys of both radiance and dullness - he felt the two opposites complement each other perfectly in a man. The duller the mind, the more radiant a beautiful man seemed, and the brighter the mind the more dullness of body a man could get away with.

But how could he ponder this now, as Dorian ran his fingers through the mess of his hair? He felt the essential pointlessness of the fabric’s beauty when it served to conceal the soft, unmarked skin of this boy, like porcelain but with the warmth of a low burning flame, unaffected by the ghastly cold seeping in through cracks in the walls. He was focused on the feeling of his lips pressed against Dorian’s, lips he’d complimented every aspect of, from their delicate bow to the scarlet plumpness of his lower lip, but until now, had never experienced.

Dorian drew away from him, placing his hand on his jawline and maintaining eye contact, “I assume you’ve done this before?”, he asked, as he began to trail his hand down Henry’s torso, stopping at his hipbone. A shiver ran through Henry’s body as he watched the slender fingers move against him. They were pale and long, the fingers of a pianist, the fingers of a pampered duchess.

He was so distracted he forgot to offer a response, until he looked up to see Dorian watching him intently, expectant. “Well, actually,” he replied, swallowing, “I cannot say I have.” He, for perhaps the first time, had no prepared witty response, no artifice. The immediacy, the reality of the situation had dumbed him down to the point of sincerity.

Dorian raised one pale, arched brow as he traced the button of Henry’s trousers teasingly, “Is that so? A man who seems always to be in the pursuit of novelty and pleasure, and yet your curiosity has never led you to another man?”  
  
Henry sighed, throwing his head back, “Dorian, let us not discuss it. For once in my life, I am quite sick of discussion.”   
  
“Very well,” replied Dorian, “Let us stop discussing and begin doing, if that's what you want.” He paused for a moment before plunging in, crashing his lips against Henry’s and pushing him towards the ornate mahogany table behind him, creasing the blue and gold Oriental cloth that lay strewn across it.

Henry was taken aback by the sheer forcefulness of the young man. This dominant personality he observed felt like seeing a china vase suddenly throw up the flower it held onto the floor, or the figure in a well-loved painting complain of boredom for having sat still so long. Perhaps if he’d been observing this he’d have made a wry comment about how unbecoming it was to see beauty in action - but he was no longer observing. He was participating, and his body responded appreciatively. 

“Do you want to go upstairs?” inquired Dorian as he pulled away, breathless. His fingers fumbled trying to undo the other man’s waistcoat. 

Henry began to attempt to pull off Dorian’s velvet jacket, the weight and intricate buttoning proving cumbersome for a man in the throes of passion, “Must we? I would rather stay here.”  
  
Dorian smirked, batting Henry's fingers away from his jacket and pulling Henry’s shirt away from his body, only to reveal an extra vest over his undershirt. _How much clothing does one man require?_ he thought. “I supposed you would. There are a lot of men who have wanted to bend me over such a table.”   
  
The frankness of the statement made Henry smile and avert his gaze, “Since the day I first saw you I’ve wanted to see that pretty mouth say filthy things.”

“So you made a beautiful mind think filthy things. And now you may feel a pretty mouth _do_ filthy things.”   
  
“Oh, Dorian,” Henry sighed, “we really _must_ stop being so clever about it.”

Rather than struggle with any more clothing, Dorian knelt down and ripped open the buttoning on Henry’s trousers. He secretly got a kick out of how expensive they probably were, and from the idea of Henry having to explain to his tailor how the buttons had popped off ‘so dreadfully’. He could see his bulge through the fabric of his underclothes and decided to stroke him roughly through it. Henry tightened his grip on the table and breathed heavily in his desperation.

Dorian continued to do this a while longer, trying to apply pressure to the most sensitive parts. Henry looked down on him. He wanted to pull aside his underwear, grab Dorian by the curls and rub his cock against those angelic lips. But instead, he let Dorian continue to tease him before finally relenting and pulling down his underclothes. Dorian licked the tip with his tongue before wrapping his lips around fully, moving them slowly as if to prolong the torturous pleasure. He then let him leave his mouth with a satisfying pop.

“Did you like that? I suppose you’d like to see me gagged. If you have to see a beautiful mouth put to use you’d rather be fucking it than listening to it.” Henry groaned as Dorian returned to pleasuring him with his hand, so he could continue speaking.

“Tell me what you want to do to me,” Dorian said, as he thrust his hand up and down his length, “I want to know precisely how you want me.”  
  
“I want to spread your slim thighs open without even undressing you entirely, just enough to see your entrance.”

“And?” Dorian moved his hand faster, not allowing Henry’s eyes to stray from his.

“Then I want to rub my cock against it before slipping just the tip in. I want you to gasp and blush at the feeling of it.”

“Do you think I’ve done this before?”  
  
“Most likely, yes - but I would like to pretend you haven’t, and that the feeling is new and overwhelming. I could go slowly and be merciful, but I’m not feeling generous. I spread you wider and thrust straight in, and you moan in a mixture of pain and pleasure.”   
  
“I’m inexperienced,” Dorian mutters. Henry had grown quite worked up, face red and hair in a state of disarray, yer Dorian seemed calm, as if he could get and up and leave and be entirely unsuspected.

“Virginal! I am going so hard and fast because the feeling of you around me is utterly divine. Those perfect lips of yours open in pleasure and those eyes well with tears of sensation. You moan as I go deeper yet, the pleasure overtaking the feeling of being stretched open, taken like a whore. It’s almost unbearable.”

"Not a very tender lover, are you, Henry?” Henry detected, but chose to ignore, a slight tone of amusement in Dorian's voice.  
  
“Not with you, Dorian. You make a man animalistic. And when I finally reach my climax, I hold still and let myself pour into you, and you cry out as you feel it within you. I withdraw and watch as you lie there, stunned. Oh how I can see you, Dorian, flushed pink and pale! So gorgeously ruined!” Henry gasped as he reached his real climax with one final deft flick of the hand, spilling onto Dorian’s wrist.

Dorian produced a handkerchief from his left pocket and hastily wiped it away, his face sour now with a look of vague distaste for the man lying in a crumpled heap before him. “Careful now, Henry. I’ve only recently had this jacket shipped in from Paris.”

Henry met the cold eyes that looked upon him now and felt quite sick with a strange mixture of regret and longing, “It is not what you want?” It sounded more like a statement than a question.

Dorian let out a chuckle, “I have done exactly what I wanted. I wonder when - if - you will find the courage to do the same.” With this, Dorian turned to leave the room, straightening the slight crookedness of his jacket. As he reached the door, he glanced over his shoulder again. “Do straighten yourself up. And ask my servant to wash that tablecloth, if you please.”


End file.
